


The Price of Freedom

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2019-01-19 17:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12414711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Lily is offered the chance to escape Potter's attentions forever. All she has to do is say "no." Freedom Arc #1





	1. The Price of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Disclaimer:**   All Harry Potter characters, objects, settings, and plots are the property of J.K. Rowling. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise associated with Harry potter. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made from the writing of this fanfiction.  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   


"All right there, Evans?”  


She sighs when she hears his voice.  She’s more than tired of this little joke.  Alright, yes, he’s fit, and popular, and witty and clever.  And certainly he’s attractive.  And the attention he heaps on her is, admittedly, flattering.  But he’s loud and arrogant and sometimes cruel, and she’s never going to say yes, _never_ , and she hates the way he humiliates her as much as himself almost every time he asks her, “Will you go out with me?”  


The memory of the question is so strong that the word “no” leaves her lips before she even realizes he hasn’t actually asked her yet.    


Oh well.  Asked or not, the answer remains the same, although it startles her how angrily she’s spit the word out.  


There’s a huff of air—not Potter—and an angry curse, before Black snarls, “Really, Evans, you might at least let him _speak_ first!”    


His tone is vicious, and it shocks her enough—because Black is usually the first to laugh whenever she shoots Potter down—that she blinks once, twice, before reacting.  But when she does, it’s with the characteristic blaze of fury that only Potter and Black ever seem to pull from her.    


“And why should I?” she demands, spinning in her seat before the fire to face him.  “He always asks the same thing.  And he only talks to me when he intends to ask it.  I see no reason to wait about, listening to meaningless pleasantries, when I could just circumvent the whole process.”    


“Meaningless pleasantries?”  


Her eyes roll heavenwards.  “You expect me to believe he actually _cares_ how I am, then?”  


“Brilliant deduction, Evans!  Why _else_ would he ask?”  


She slams closed the textbook she has been unsuccessfully trying to read and clenches her fists, bright green eyes narrowed to angry slits.  “For the same reason he asks how my revision is going, whether I’ve slept well, if my hair charms are giving me trouble, do I need help with my transfiguration assignments, whether I was as horrified as he was that Snape is in two of our classes this year, or if I’d like help warming my chocolate to the right temperature: he’s building up to the inevitable question the whole school, thanks to this running practical joke, knows he’s going to ask the minute he so much as glances in my direction!”  


Black’s fists clench as he starts across the room, his expression as dark as his name.  “You heartless little—”  


“Padfoot!” Potter reaches for his friend, grasps his arm, pulls him up short.  “Padfoot, _enough_!”  


She watches as Black wrenches his arm from Potter’s hold and gestures wildly with it in her direction.  “But Prongs, this is the last time and she isn’t even—”  


“Sirius, please.”  Potter sounds tired.    


Black looks at him and sighs, offers a thin smile. “If that’s what you want, Jamie.”  Potter nods.  Black puts a hand on Potter’s shoulder, squeezes, and turns away, moves to lean against the mantle.  


She watches their interaction, her anger fading as her puzzlement grows.  When she turns back to face him, she finds that Potter is watching her watch him, the expression on his face unreadable.  It makes her nervous.  This boy, usually so easy to read, has no business being so suddenly serious.  She finds for the first time in years that she can’t predict him; she feels a sliver of something like panic slide through her.  


Potter takes a deep breath and crosses the room to her chair without his usual confident swagger.  Her eyes are wide, and she feels that panicky feeling again as he sinks down onto the end of the couch nearest her.  His open palms slide nervously over the fabric of his trousers, thighs to knees.    


“Lily?”  His eyes meet hers, then slide away again.  “This is the last time.  After this, if you say no, I’ll never bother you again, I promise.”  


He is looking at her again, his eyes steady on hers, and she feels the weight of his gaze, feels that something momentous is happening,  and doesn’t know what to do about the way her nerves are jangling.  


“Lily, will you go out with me?”  


Her breath catches.  That sliver of panic widens into something thick and hard, blocking her lungs and forming a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach.  She feels confused, almost claustrophobic, as she drags in air past the stone in her throat and curls her fingers over the hem of her skirt.    


“Potter,” she hears her voice say, as if from a distance; it’s cold and calm, and she hardly recognizes that it’s hers, “your decision to end your attempts to date me don’t change the outcome of this attempt one iota.  The answer is now, as it has always been and always will be, no.”  


Because she is watching him, unable to look away, she sees it, just barely, when something breaks in his expression.  Some _thing_ , some emotion, that always lingers on his face when he asks her The Question, something that allows him to laugh off her rejections and endure the ridicule of his friends, the same thing that drives him to come back and ask her again and again day after day, something bright and strong and good, flickers at the backs of those hazel eyes.  And dies.  


Something that looks like hope.  


His face is unreadable again, and his expression, his eyes, are distant and cool, and she can’t breathe.  He stands up and smiles down at her, but it is not the wide, intimately bright grin she is used to seeing from him.  It is a small, polite little smile, an _acquaintance’s_ smile, and she sees black spots on the edges of her vision.  


“I’m sorry to have wasted your time, then, Evans,” he says quietly, his voice every bit as polite and impersonal as his smile.  “Have a good evening.”    


And then he is turning away from her, _turning away_ , and he is walking towards the portrait hole, and he is not looking back, does not look back, and he does not say even one thing, not one infuriating or teasing remark, and the panic forms a fist and clenches down around her heart.    


There is a flash of pain as the panic squeezes into a tight knot in her chest, and then an odd detachment, an emotionlessness, fills her as she watches him leaning in to push the portrait out.  She feels empty, hollow, as he walks away, like he’s walking out of her life instead of just walking out of the room.  And she doesn’t quite believe it, can’t quite grasp that it’s happened, that she’s free of him at last, but then there is serious Black, laughing grey eyes now glinting cold and hard as he gives her a disappointed, disgusted, look, and dismisses her with a shake of his head as he follows Potter out of the common room, away from her, and from the look on his face,  it must be true.  


She doesn’t realize she is shaking until she reaches one trembling hand up to push a strand of bright red hair behind one ear.  And she doesn’t realize she isn’t breathing until her view of him fades, blurs, and begins to go black.  She doesn’t realize these things because the panic is still there, growing stronger and more potent with every step he takes, until he’s out of sight, and Black with him.  She feels something like desperation well up inside her.  She blinks, and something wet rolls down her cheek.    


The portrait closes with a soft thump, and she is alone.  


	2. Consequences

** Consequences **

She doesn’t understand it, can’t understand it. 

She’s been wanting freedom from his advances for years, complained left and right about his presence, his persistence, his attentions.  
 

But now he treats her as if he hardly knows her.  Nodding at her in the hall when they pass one another, smiling politely when he sees her in class.  No more and no less than he does for anybody else.  
Their interactions are empty, emotionless.  
 

And it hurts, that he never pays her any attention, and she doesn’t understand it, because this is what she wants, has _been_ wanting.  
 

And she can’t understand why his indifference to her presence feels like a knife in her chest.  Doesn’t understand why that knife seems to twist whenever she hears him laugh across the common room, or smells his cologne when he passes her in the Great Hall.  Can’t fathom why she feels like crying whenever his eyes meet hers, blank and uncaring, and then slide away again.  Why, on more than one occasion, the sight of his eyes lighting up because of someone else has sent her running from the room, panicking, eyes inexplicably blurry and unable to breathe.  And why, whenever he graces some other girl with the bright shining grin that used to be just for her, she feels like she’s suffocating, dying inside, and that is worst of all.  


No she just can’t understand it.  Because she hates James Potter.  So why does this feel so much like a broken heart?


	3. Scarlet in a World of Grey

**Scarlet in a World of Grey  
**

It’s pouring down rain, but even so, the stands are full to overflowing with students and faculty come to see the Gryffindor/Slytherin game.  Lily’s best friend shifts beside her, complaining, like everyone else, about cold, and wet, and poor visibility.  Lily feels little sympathy.  That’s what Impervious charms are for.  

Besides, she likes the rain.  It suits her mood.  

She’s not really sure why she’s here.  She feels obligated to show House support, she supposes.    She’s never really been all that interested in Quidditch, and she hasn’t any friends amongst the players.  So obligation. 

Obligation and the rain.  

She tilts her head back and watches the players dart in and out of sight through the heavy downpour.  It’s hard to tell what’s going on up there.  Every so often a flash of scarlet and green drops into sight, Quaffle and Bludgers darting between them.  It’s impossible to tell what condition the players are in at this point, but considering House rivalry and the lack of visibility, it’s likely injuries are happening. A lot of them. 

Lily’s heart drops every time she catches sight of a Gryffindor Chaser, even though she can hardly tell them apart from this distance.  She pretends she doesn’t know why.  Just like she’s been pretending that she doesn’t know why her heart drops whenever she catches sight of Potter in the halls or the common room.  

It’s easier, pretending.  

In fact, it’s easiest when you can convince yourself you don’t really care at all anymore.  Lily’s been pretending disinterest so long she’s starting to believe it.  She can scarcely remember caring about much of anything.

She brushes wet hair out her eyes and then shakes her head when her friend asks if she needs her hat back.  It’s not really all that cold.  Rather, Lily’s been cold for weeks now.  She can’t really tell the difference.  

Suddenly, there are screams from the far side of the pitch.  Lily cranes her head, trying to see what the fuss is about.  At first she thinks the Snitch has been spotted.  Someone in red robes is dropping fast through the pouring rain at a speed that would suggest desperation to finish the game.

Her heart lifts a little; Gryffindor wins are always good for morale, especially when they’re against Slytherin.  

Then she realizes the plummeting figure isn’t on a broom.  And he has black hair.

There’s only one person on the Gryffindor team with hair that color.  

Her heart leaps into her throat and forms a tight little ball.  She can’t breathe, her fingers twine tightly together, and she can’t look away, can’t help but watch.

James is still falling and falling and falling.  He’s falling head first and way too fast.  He hasn’t even hit the ground yet and he already looks broken.

Her vision is blurry and she can hardly see.  She blinks, trying to focus, eyes glued to that little bit of falling, falling scarlet, unable to look away as James’s body meets the ground.  

He bounces once, twice, and is still.

There is an eerie, muffled silence, like Lily’s head is surrounded by thick cotton batting.  She sees people moving in her peripheral vision, sees their mouths move and their hands wave.  She sees Professor Dumbledore and several others running down the faculty stairwell, sees the school mediwitch race onto the pitch.  

And it’s all happening in perfect, unrelieved silence.  It would be unnerving, if she had the ability to do anything but watch James.

Something hot and wet slides down her cheek.  She blinks once, twice, and then the world comes rushing back.  The screaming and crying of those around her is nearly deafening, and she almost wishes she could go back to the silence.  Suddenly, she wants more than anything to run down to the pitch the way the professors are doing now.  It’s what she wants most in the world, and it’s the one thing she cannot have.  

It’s torture to sit still and do nothing, to watch as the professors shout and scurry, as the mediwitch waves her wand again and again and again.  Finally, she levitates James’s body and rushes towards the castle, half the professors racing after.  

Lily still can’t breathe.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

  


Lily has been sitting quietly in the common room for hours, listening for news.  She would rather be in the hall outside the infirmary where everything is happening.  Potter is her housemate and she is Head Girl.  She could go and show her support, find out what’s going on…but Potter’s friends aren’t terribly fond of her at the moment.  Besides, she has no business worrying about his condition.

She’s not sure why she cares anyway.  She only knows that she does.  And she’s heard nothing, nothing! for hours and hours.   

She’s starting to feel anxious at the lack of news. 

She waits.  She’s patient.  People come and go and she tries not to let her heart leap every time the portrait hole opens.  Nevertheless, she feels it drop every time she sees a face other than the one she keeps expecting to see.

(She’s not sure which that is, Lupin, Black, Pettigrew, or Potter).

Eventually she falls asleep.  When she wakes, it’s to the sound of hushed whispering.  An extremely tired looking Lupin is supporting a mostly dozing Black and whispering quietly with Pettigrew as they stagger across the room towards the boys’ stairway.  

While all three of them look absolutely exhausted, they don’t look otherwise distressed.  

Lily breathes a sigh of relief.

The three boys make their way across the common room and up the stairs without seeming to notice that Lily is there.  She watches them go and then debates what to do.  She knows if Potter were still in danger, Lupin and company would still be downstairs.  Despite knowing this, she feels no relief.

Lily stands up, intending to just go to bed.  Because that’s what she really ought to do, since Potter is obviously fine.  When she finds herself standing in the hall outside the portrait hole, she’s…really not sure how she got there.  

Her feet carry her away from Gryffindor tower, down the hall, down the stairs, with a mind all their own.  Before she knows it, she is standing outside the door to the infirmary.  The door creaks when she pulls it open and she flinches, freezing.  Head Girl or no, if she gets caught, she’ll be getting detention.  She has no business in the hospital wing in the middle of the night.  

There is no sound, no clue that anyone was alerted by the sound of the door.  Lily breathes a sigh of relief and slips through the crack in the doorway.  The infirmary is dark and it takes a few minutes for her eyes to adjust.  When they do, she sees two rows of mostly empty beds.  The one on the right at the very end is curtained off, and she pads down the aisle in that direction, careful to keep her steps quiet.  

She pauses at the foot of that one occupied bed.  The form within is visible only by the thin moonlight coming in through a gap in the curtains.  His hair is strewn across the pillow in its usual disarray, but the bandages wrapped around his temples aren’t usual at all.  Neither are the bandages across his torso, visible where the blankets are pulled down around his waist.  There is a bottle of Skele-Gro on the table beside his bed, as well as a whole host of other potions, emphasizing the seriousness of his condition.

Even so, he looks so peaceful, lying there.

Lily quietly steps around the bed to sit in the chair beside it.  She hesitates only a moment before reaching out and sliding her fingers carefully under his limp palm.  She holds his hand for long, silent moments.  She doesn’t know why she’s doing.  She doesn’t even have the right to be here, much less touch him, but she can’t help herself.  He looks so small and helpless.  

He’s James Potter.  He’s always been bigger than life.

Lily stays where she is for an endless time, thinking and trying not to think.  Eventually she realizes the light coming in through the curtains is turning grey.  She stands hastily, but it is with reluctance that she withdraws her hand from his.  She looks down at him, and feels her heart break a little to see him so subdued.  Gently, she brushes his fringe back with the hand that’s been holding his, then leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to his brow.  

“Get well soon, James Potter,” she whispers, and then leaves the room as silently as she entered it.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

In the bed Lily has just left behind, a pair of hazel eyes flies open in shock, staring in disbelief at the redhead’s retreating back. 


	4. Hope

Hope

It’s a Hogsmeade weekend.  Although it’s something she usually looks forward to—the chance to get out of the castle—Lily is debating staying in.  It’s cold and snowy outside, and there’s something to be said for the quiet solitude to be found in the library when most of the school is gone for the day.  

Never mind that the “Marauders” will definitely be going, or that Lily hasn’t been able to face Potter since her late night visit when he was in hospital.  

She literally hasn’t seen his face since she was kissing it.  Just the thought makes her flush bright red.  

But Alice is urging her to go.  Frank, the boy Alice is interested in at the moment, is going be in Hogsmeade this weekend and Alice wants company while she trails after him and ogles.  Lily normally thinks watching Alice and Frank dance around one another is entertaining, but lately it’s been making her a little depressed.  

Still, when Alice resorts to begging, Lily gives in and climbs into the carriage after her friend.

She trails aimlessly behind Alice for most of the morning.  She buys sweets in Honeydukes, does a little Christmas shopping (she even buys a soft new scarf for Petunia that Lily knows her sister will love but may never wear simply because Lily bought it for her), and finally follows Alice (who’s following Frank) towards The Three Broomsticks.  On the way there, she realizes she’s dropped a package, the one with Tuney’s scarf, back down the street a ways.  She waves Alice on ahead, then turns back to get it.

And nearly runs right into James Potter.

Potter is alone.  That’s a rare and unusual thing, but since he’s headed in the direction of The Three Broomsticks, she figures that’s where his posse is.  

They stare at one another.  Silently, he offers her the paper-wrapped package she’d just dropped.   She accepts it, hesitates, offers a tiny smile in return.

She’s never smiled at Potter before.

He blinks, looking stunned.  His eyes are huge behind his glasses, and she feels a little self-conscious.  Then gifts her with a smile of his own.  

_The_ smile.  _Her_ smile.

For the first time in months, Lily feels her heart lift.

It feels a little like hope.


	5. Dawning Realization

Dawning Realization

It’s late at night, long after the library normally closes, and Lily is slouched at an empty table buried in the stacks, hiding from the world.  Normally Lily would be in bed by now.  There are advantages to being Head Girl, such as the privilege of staying in the library past closing time or to walk the halls after curfew, but Lily rarely takes advantage of the allowances made for her position.  But today is an exception.  Because Lily is panicking.

It’s the day after Lily’s rather eventful trip to Hogsmeade, and...  

Except it _wasn’t_ eventful.  Not even close.  She’d smiled at James.  At Potter.  _Potter_.  She’d smiled at _Potter_ , and he’d smiled back.  Then they’d gone their separate ways.  Well.  Then they’d walked silently down the sidewalk, awkwardly side-by-side but not _together_ , until they’d both reached The Three Broomsticks.  James had hooked one hand around the door  handle and held the door open until Lily had gone through, and then he’d come inside behind her.  And _then_ they’d gone their separate ways.

But in no way had the trip been eventful.  Or really, anything noteworthy at all.  

But Lily is panicking.  And not because she wasted money on an expensive scarf Tuney will likely hide in a closet for all eternity either.

The thing is, Lily can’t figure out why she _is_ panicking.  

Ja— _Potter_ has been acting strange too, which makes it worse.  Every time she’s seen him today, which has been far more often than normal for a Sunday (especially when she’s spent most of it hiding in the library), she’s caught him darting little glances her way.  She’s not sure what they mean, since there’s no apparent expression on his face when he’s doing it, but it’s…disturbing.  

Worse, she feels her face heat every time she sees Potter, which is embarrassing.  She desperately hopes he hasn’t noticed.

The thing is…  The thing is, she’s seen Potter around for years, years during which he’s spent _a lot_ of time looking at Lily.  So she’s not sure why the fact that he’s doing it now is affecting her so much.  Or why the very sight of him sets her heart to fluttering and her face to heating.  Or why she loses the ability to breathe whenever their eyes meet.  

It’s mad, her reaction to him.  Nothing _happened_ yesterday.  And nothing’s happened today either.

Except that James is _looking_ at her again.  

It’s not the same as it was before.  There’s no staring, no lurking, no smug, secretive smiles.  His expression isn’t teasing or laughing or warm.  He’s just…watching.  Curious.  Wary.  

But he’s _looking_.  

That matters.  It matters to Lily that James isn’t ignoring her anymore.  Just like it mattered to her yesterday that he smiled at her again, and it mattered all those weeks ago that James was going to be fine after falling off his broom.  Not just that he hadn’t kill himself, but that he was going to be _fine_.  

Because Lily cares about his health and safety. 

And all those times he looked so upset, like that time in fifth year, when he and Black stopped speaking, or every time he turned away after asking her _that question_ , and she felt so…and it made her so angry that he could make her feel guilty and concerned and…

She cares about his _happiness_.  

And how had she even noticed that James was upset in fifth year? she has to ask herself.  At the time she’d told herself it was obvious, but then Alice hadn’t known what she was talking about when Lily’d asked if she knew what was going on…And then there was that time last year when something must have happened to Black over the summer because James kept hovering over him like a worried mother hen at the beginning of fall term and Lily’d been tempted to send them anonymous boxes of chocolate just to make him stop looking so _strained_ every time he was with his best friend, only she’d stopped _that_ thought in its tracks because why in the world would she send either of them anything?  

Lily blinks, shocked by her own train of thoughts.  She doesn’t just care about his happiness or his safety or his marks, much as she’d nagged him about them over the years.  She’s been…She’s been _watching_ him.  For…how long has she been doing that?  How long has she been taking note of his moods and his pranks and how well he’s doing in his classes?  She can’t…she doesn’t know.  But she knows it’s been…

She’s been watching him for _years_.  She cares about _him_.

Lily sits up straight with a loud gasp, eyes wide, heart pounding. 

“Merlin’s crooked hat!” she says, stunned.  “I’m in love with James Potter.”


	6. Something to Be Said for Perseverence

**Something to Be Said for Perseverance**

Lily’s morning was extremely busy.  She’d gotten up this morning and put her favorite pair of Muggle jeans and a plain black jumper on under her school robes.  She’d gone down to the Great Hall and eaten a healthy breakfast.  Then she’d hurried back up to the tower and frantically packed for Christmas hols.  She had carefully stacked all her school books in her trunk, folded her clothes on top, and tossed in all the other random things she’d need over the break. She’d even wrapped all the Christmas presents she’d bought for all her family and friends and had packed them in her trunk with everything else before heading downstairs just in time to catch a carriage to the Hogwarts Express.  

By the time the train pulled into King’s Cross Station, Lily had removed her robes and all other witchy paraphernalia and packed them into her trunk with everything else.  

Now, standing in her compartment, gripping the handle of her trunk in one hand and her coat in the other, Lily is completely ready to get off the train and go home.  

Except for one thing.  

Christmas means _going home_.  

On the one hand, it will be a relief.  In the time since that evening in the library (which Lily had termed The Realization), Lily has been unable to sleep properly.  She’s in love with James Potter.  She still doesn’t know how that happened, but it’s not making her life any easier.  She worries about how to deal with the situation she’s found herself in.  Should she tell James how she feels?  What if he doesn’t feel the same?  What if he’s gotten over her over the course of the term?  Even worse, what if he never felt that way about her to begin with?  What if it really was just a big, long-lasting joke?

Her day to day life has gotten a lot more complicated too.  She can’t even be in the same room with James anymore.  She blushes violently whenever she sees him, and she can’t decide where she’s supposed to look.  If she looks at him, won’t he notice?  But if she avoids eye contact, he might notice that too, and combined with the blushing, she’s afraid he might come to the wrong (or rather the right) conclusion.  

So she’s been avoiding James altogether.  Until she figures out how to handle this whole love thing, she obviously can’t afford to be around him.  

She has to be really diligent about avoiding him too.  If she forgets to remember to avoid him, even for a few minutes, she finds herself unconsciously seeking him out.  Because, strangely, she just likes to be in the same room as he is.  But eventually she realizes what she’s doing, which always leads to another round of the blushing in horrified embarrassment thing, and then another round of diligently remembering to avoid him.  

It’s making sitting through classes rather difficult.  She’s been forced to sit in the front in every class just to avoid looking at him, even though she _hates_ sitting in the front row.  

And she can’t concentrate!  No matter where she is or what she’s supposed to be doing, she can’t think of anything but James.  Lily has never had problems completing her school work before, but lately, she’ll find herself sitting and staring into space for hours instead of studying or writing essays.  Even Alice has noticed something’s up, and _she’s_ love-struck herself.  

All of this has added to Lily’s general panic over the situation and is making it even harder for her to sleep.  And on the rare occasion she does fall asleep, she dreams of happily ever after moments with dark haired men wearing glasses!  It’s all very frustrating, particularly because she now has big, dark bags under her eyes and her hair’s a mess, and those are things that never would have bothered her much before, but now they do and that makes her mad too!

So going home might be a nice relief from the stress.  

But on the other hand, there is no James at home.  There is Severus, with whom she is no longer on good terms (which Lily does _not_ want any reminders of, thankyouverymuch), and Petunia (ditto).  Even worse, Tuney’s new boyfriend is coming to stay for Christmas this year to meet Lily’s parents.  And to torture Lily, _apparently_.  He’s dating _Petunia_ , so the man is bound to be just as awful as Tuney has become; Lily’s not likely to want to spend much time with him to begin with, but then there’s the fact that Tuney is happily in love while Lily is suffering through her own personal love-generated nightmare, like something out of a Muggle Valentine’s Day horror movie.  

(Lily will be the one that dies ironically, right at the beginning, because her love is unrequited.  And because she’s the unnecessary ginger.  They always kill the unnecessary, in-unrequited-love ginger first, while the happily-in-love Muggle either gets to be the very last to die—a very tragic and heartbreaking affair, Lily’s sure, unlike her own relatively quick and careless death—or narrowly escapes the murderer so that she can dramatically reunite with the love of her life at the end.)

And there is absolutely no doubt that Petunia is going to be smug and boastful about the whole thing.  She will inevitably rub her success in Lily’s face.  Lily can already hear the nasty side comments she’ll make about how it’s “too bad no one wants a freak like you, Lily,” or why none of the other “freaks at that freak school you go to have any interest in dating you, Lily?  Too much freak in you even for them?”  

It’s going to be _unbearable_.  

And again, no James.  

Not that she sees him now anyway, since she’s avoiding him, but there’s comfort in the fact that she _could_ see him if she wanted to, so…

Lily is torn between frantically thinking about all of this and desperately trying not to as she steps off the train at platform 9 ¾.  She is also panicking about the possibility of running into James before she manages to escape the platform because she doesn’t know what she’ll say to him if she does.  But at the same time, she’s panicking about _not_ running into him because she can’t imagine facing this holiday without at least a _little_ glimpse to get her through until the next term starts.

And she’s trying not to feel a little bit pathetic about feeling that way.  Over _James Potter_.  

Lily hardly recognizes herself anymore, honestly. 

Distracted by all her internal turmoil, Lily doesn’t see James already standing on the platform until she looks up from ensuring her trunk is safely on a luggage cart and suddenly finds her entire field of vision filled with black hair and hazel eyes.

For a moment, all she can do is admire his eyelashes.  

His eyelashes!

She wills herself not to flush.  She also forces herself not to run away (which is an incredibly tempting option, and really, Lily knows she was put into Gryffindor for a reason, but it’s been days and days since she’s been able to locate her spine and it’s getting to be very irritating).  

Lily is rewarded for standing there like an idiot when James tips his head in her direction.  It’s almost like those polite nods she’s been getting (and hating) so much all term.  But his expression is uncertain, not indifferent, and he’s smiling, just a little, with one corner of his mouth.

Something about that expression gives her courage.  (Finally.)

So she takes a deep breath, hesitates, and then: “Have a good holiday,” she tells him, heart pounding in her chest, the smile on her face so tiny she barely feels it.  

The smile on _his_ face is sudden and wide.  “You too, Evans,” he tells her.  He’s _looking_ at her.  She doesn’t know what to do now, and she feels awkward standing there, silently fidgeting while he _looks_ at her, so she moves towards the place where she always meets her family.  He’s _still_ looking as she starts to pass him.  She knows she’s blushing.

She almost doesn’t do it.  She’s terrified, and…it doesn’t mean anything, the looking.  It could still be one big practical joke.  But it doesn’t feel like a joke, and she can still feel his eyes on her back, can hear Black trying to get James’s attention without success.

If it weren’t for that.  If it weren’t for his eyes.  And the smile…

Lily turns around, just enough to meet James’s gaze, still intently trained on her.  He turns a little pink, but his eyes don’t shift.  Lily clears her throat.

“There’s something to be said for perseverance, James,” she tells him.  She watches as his eyes go wide with shock.  He’s perfectly still for a second or two, and then he moves.  It’s nothing.  His hand reaches.  His knee lifts.  It’s so small it barely even qualifies as motion but she’s sure he’s about to start towards her when someone grabs Lily’s elbow harshly.

“Lily!” Petunia is snarling in her ear.  “Stop ignoring me for your weird little friends and come on.  We have to get home in time to meet Vernon at the house.  Mum and Dad are waiting!”  Her sister is dragging her away, hand clenched tight around Lily’s arm.  Lily has to turn away from James to keep from being pulled off her feet. 

But not before she seems him grin, big and bright and blindingly smug.

She feels his eyes on her all the way out of the train station.


	7. The Meaning of it All

**The Meaning of it All**

It is Christmas and Lily is sitting quietly in her room, trying not to cry.

Up until today, the holidays have been bearable. Lily feels more and more alienated each time she comes home from school; the more she settles into the wizarding world, the more she feels awkward pretending to be a Muggle. This holiday was harder than most because, with Vernon visiting for Christmas, she'd had to pretend not to be a witch at all. But it had worked out alright, and things had at least been peaceful, if not happy...until this afternoon.

This afternoon, sometime after lunch, a large barn owl had flown up to the window and demanded to be let in. After six and a half years of interaction with the wizarding world, Lily's family was used to things like that happening. Certain members of the family may not _like_ it, but they were _used_ to it.

Vernon was _not_ used to it. In fact, he'd never even seen an owl at close range before, much less one carrying a box and politely asking to come inside a house like a tame pet.

Petunia was not happy. She'd done her best to justify the incident to Vernon as she'd ushered him quickly from the room, spewing some nonsense about animal experimentation and how sad it was that the crazy bird was slamming into their window. But she'd not hesitated to tell Lily exactly what she thought about the situation and about Lily herself when she'd come barreling back into the room, alone, five minutes later.

It had not been a pleasant afternoon. Worse, Petunia hadn't even opened Lily's gift; Lily had spotted it, paper crinkled but still un-torn, half-buried in the rubbish pile this morning. She'd rescued it because it was a nice scarf, but it just about broke Lily's heart to do it.

That discovery alone was enough to make Lily cry this morning, but combined with the owl incident...

Worst of all, Petunia is downstairs right now, laughing with her horrid boyfriend, while Lily is doing her best not to spend the remainder of Christmas sobbing into her pillow. And neither of her parents seems to have noticed Lily's distress in the least.

Lily doesn't understand why her parents seem to like Vernon so much. He is every bit as awful as Lily had suspected he would be, and he looks like a walrus besides.

A walrus!

A walrus in a _toupee_.

Considering how...horsey Petunia is looking these days, Lily fears for their future children. Lily has been having visions of zoo animals with a mix of Petunia and Vernon's faces rather than kids in their not-too-distant-family.

It's a nauseating mental image.

Lily takes a deep breath and lets out a heavy sigh. Insulting Tuney is not helping her peace of mind, much as she wishes it was.

The box in her hands isn't helping her peace of mind either.

It is small—only just big enough to keep her fingers from touching when she holds it. It had been badly wrapped with brown butcher paper and twine when it had arrived. Now that she's removed the butcher paper, the box is badly wrapped in a layer of thick green foil paper tied with a crooked golden bow.

Lily turns the the box over and over in her hands, afraid to open it. She knows who it's from. She recognizes the print on the front of the card tucked beneath the gold ribbon, knows that casual, haphazard style of wrapping.

Lily tilts her head back, closes her eyes, lets herself groan. Why is it she know Potter's style of _wrapping_?

Lily has been panicking about what she said to James on Platform 9 ¾ ever since the last day of fall term. She worries that she misinterpreted James's actions prior to making that brash statement, and she wonders about James's reaction, wonders if she imagined him starting towards her, or if she misinterpreted what that means if she didn't imagine it.

She really hopes she didn't imagine it.

And she's been wondering about what to do over the holidays. Should she send James a letter? A card? A _gift_? (Lily's never sent James a gift before. Would it seem strange to do so now? Too obvious? Too forward?) Or should she wait until James contacts her? _Will_ James contact her? And if he does, what should she do?

And now, James _has_ contacted her—he's sent her a gift. It looks exactly the same as every other gift he's ever sent her—one for each birthday and Christmas that has passed since he started asking her out on dates in their third year.

Same size, same shape, same paper, same style of wrapping. Same, same, same...

It feels as though he's being...totally blasé about the whole thing.

Lily takes this huge step and actually... _encourages_ him, and James...James just...he just...

It makes no sense for him to send her a gift just like every other when _everything_ between them has changed this term.

Unless Lily is misinterpreting everything.

She really, _really_ hopes she's not misinterpreting everything.

But if she's not, James choice of gift makes no sense! Lily feels hurt and confused, and she almost doesn't want to open the box because if she does, and it's exactly what she thinks it is, then...

What will that mean?

But then, if she doesn't open the box, and it's something different...

She _has_ to open the box. She has to _know_. Because the uncertainty is slowly killing her.

Lily looks down at James's gift and hesitates, then slowly peels back the wrinkled green paper and opens the box within. Inside she finds her favorite Honeydukes chocolate, the same thing James has sent her every Christmas and every birthday for the past three and a half years.

What does that _mean_?

She stares blankly down at the box in her lap, so confused she doesn't know what to think. So she reaches for the card. She knows exactly what she will find in that envelope. The card will have a bouquet of Christmas lilies on the front, and inside it will say:

"Happy Christmas, Lily," she reads out loud. Yes, she nods absently, same as every other year.

Except...

Except for the Lily part. It usually says "Evans."

Does _that_ mean anything? James _never_ uses her first name.

Lily flips the card over to see if she's missing something. She's not.

She...doesn't know what to think. James sent her a gift. She's fairly certain that that means they're at least on friendly terms. But she's in love with the boy and she doesn't know how he feels about her, so she's overanalyzing everything. A difference as small as the name he uses to address her in a card shouldn't be such a big issue...but it is to Lily. She can't help but wonder about it, can't help but think (hope) it might mean something.

And Lily has an even bigger problem: What is she supposed to do now? Should she send him something in return? And if so, what?

Lily thinks she might be starting to hyperventilate.

With just a little bit of a whimper, Lily collapses backwards on her bed, arms spread wide and hands clutching at her comforter. The box in her lap shifts with the movement and tumbles to the bed beside her. She twists her head to the side and reaches for it, intending to place it safely out of harms way on the nightstand beside her.

After all, James sent her that box. And it _is_ full of her very favorite sweets.

As she lifts the box and moves it to one side, she unintentionally tilts it to one side. Something bright and shining falls from the box and lands on the wood of the nightstand.

Lily sits up. She sets the box down and reaches for the glinting silver object.

It's a slender, lily-of-the-valley hair slide,* and it is beautiful. Lily holds the hair accessory up to the light and stares, wide-eyed, at the elegant twist of silver leaves around silver stem and tiny silver lilies.

What does _this_ mean?

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

* A hair slide is the British term for a barrette or bobby pin.


	8. Never Let Go

It is the beginning of the spring term, the Hogwarts Express has only just delivered all the Hogwarts students back to school, and Lily is sitting in the Great Hall for the term's welcome back feast. She is sitting with Alice, who is more interested in talking to Frank (seated on her other side) than in paying attention to her best friend. Lily doesn't really mind though. She's a little preoccupied with pretending she isn't searching the room for James.

She didn't see him on the train or platform 9 ¾. Not that she'd been looking for him, mind, she just happened to notice that she hadn't seen him.

The fact that she still hasn't seen him is playing havoc with her nerves.

She knows he's here. He _has_ to be here. _Everyone_ rides the Hogwarts Express. He's here. He is. Knowing his appetite as she does, she suspects he's probably in this Hall.

She just...doesn't know where.

Lily has nearly given up when she finally spots him. She is leaning forward, about to swallow a spoonful of soup, when the length of the table suddenly clears and there he is. He's sitting with his exclusive little group of friends all the way at the other end of the Gryffindor table, and he is laughing and gesturing at Black with a piece of half-eaten bread roll. As she watches, he takes a sip of water, then glances away from his friends.  Before she can look away, their eyes meet.

His eyes go wide and his smile disappears, but he holds her gaze with an intensity that makes her stomach clench and her heart beat faster. It feels like the world's on pause, but she's aware that it's not. She wonders if the whole Hall can tell they're staring at each other.

Then someone a little ways down leans in a bit, and just like that, they're not staring at each other anymore.

Lily feels bereft.

She tries not to, but when the person blocking her view leans back again, she looks. James is no longer in his seat, and his friends are staring in her direction. Lupin is looking somewhat bemused, but Black is wearing an expression of mixed anger and concern.

What?

Lily glances frantically around, trying to see where James has gone. When she finds him, she sucks in her breath on a gasp.

James has rounded the far end of the table and is making his way towards her between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw benches. His pace is quick and purposeful, and though his eyes are intent on Lily, his expression is completely neutral.

Lily is suddenly and exceedingly nervous.

She watches him walk, closer and closer, and feels her breath dragging in her lungs, the sweat gathering on the back of her neck, the butterflies raging in her stomach. She feels like she might throw up.

Not so much nervous, then, as _terrified_.

What could he possibly be—

Lily's thoughts are abruptly derailed because James is suddenly _right there_. He comes to a stop beside her, and she looks up at him, twisted around on the bench to face him. He still looks…blank. She doesn't like it. It reminds her of all those months of empty looks and polite nods and…She's not sure why he's come over here if he still feels the need to look at her like that.

What _is_ he doing over here? And _why_ does he look like that? It's making her more nervous.

It's even worse when she sees his eyes focus on her hair. She feels herself blush violently, knowing that he's noticed the silver lilies holding half her hair back.

_His_ silver lilies.

She feels self-conscious. She almost didn't wear it today. She wasn't sure if she should, wasn't sure, even now, what he'd meant by sending the gift. But he _had_ sent it and that meant something to _her_.

And she'd _wanted_ to wear it.

She tilts her chin up, just a little bit defiant. James's gaze shifts. When his eyes find hers, they are hot. Intense.

His expression isn't blank anymore.

She watches with wide eyes as he pulls in a deep breath. His stance is uncertain, but the way his heated gaze is still holding hers captive is anything but.

Then he asks the question she'd hoped and then feared she would never hear again.

"Lily," he says, his voice velvet and warm, "will you go out with me?"

Lily is so distracted by the look in his eyes and the way his voice wraps around her that she almost forgets to answer. It's not until she notices him shift uncomfortably that she chokes out a "yes" in a barely audible voice.

The Great Hall explodes in shock. There's someone catcalling down the table—she thinks it's Black—and someone else is whistling loudly (maybe Lupin?) but she doesn't care. She doesn't care that Pettigrew has fallen off the bench in shock, or that Alice, so excited about Lily's new happiness that she’s forgotten her own nervousness, has seized Frank's face between her hands and is snogging him madly. She doesn't care about Severus's horrified expression, or Slughorn's ridiculous exclamations at the head table. She doesn't care about anything.

Lily doesn't care because she is standing in the circle of James's arms and James is kissing her, sweet and slow and warm and desperate, and Lily can't think about anything but him.

She's not sure how long it lasts—a second, a minute, an hour—but when it ends, Lily looks up at James and smiles, breathless and dazed. "I love you," she tells him, unable to think or say or do anything else in that moment.

James grins madly, and his arms tighten around her a little. "I figured as much," he replies. "Nothing else would ever convince you to give me a chance."

"James!" she protests, then smacks his chest with her open palm. (Her other hand slides through the hair at his nape, slender fingers tangling in inky black waves in silent apology.) "'I know' is not the appropriate response."

He rolls his eyes, still smiling widely. "It's fairly obvious how I feel about you, Lily," he says. "It's not as though you need me to _tell_ you that I love you." Lily catches her breath at his words. James's smile softens when he notices it. "But I suppose it can't hurt to say it," he continues in a more gentle voice, his tone low and intimate. "Because I do you know. Love you. I have for a long time now, actually."

Lily smiles tentatively. "I'm sorry I was slow, James," she tells him, because she is. The whisper she says it in is because of the way he's looking at her.

The smug grin and hot eyes are back. "You should say my name again."

"Why?"

"I _like_ it when you say my name. Much better than when you call me ' _Potter_.'" He spits the name in a gentle mockery of the way she used to say it.

She pokes her finger into one hard pectoral. "Don't think you've escaped from that, James." Lily pauses long enough to let James finish kissing her, and to blink dazedly for several seconds, before she continues. "I'm sure I'll still be calling you 'Potter' fairly often. You have a knack for getting into trouble."

"You'd better get used to coping with that, love," he tells her firmly. "Because now that I have you, I don't intend to ever let you go again."

Lily can only laugh as he drags her close and kisses her again. She doesn't mind if he _does_ keep her forever. In fact, she thinks to herself as she melts against him, she's rather hoping he does.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

THE END! 

(Sequel in progress)

 


End file.
